


Summer Crush

by waffles_007



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13147977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffles_007/pseuds/waffles_007
Summary: It all sort of starts when Looch is 15, this whole thing with Keith’s older brother, Brent. Although he’s known Keith and Brent for practically forever, when you’re this in to hockey you cross paths all the time: same team, same friends, same rinks—the summer that Looch turns fifteen, and Brent is seventeen and home for three months, Looch really notices Brent for the first time. Like, notices. The summer Looch is turning sixteen and Brent comes back a little bit later than normal for the hot summer months, Looch is fully unprepared for the changes Brent’s gone through in the last year. By the time Looch is turning seventeen, Brent's nineteen and he's filled out, much taller, and Looch can't shake the crush he's been harboring for the last few years. Brent can't help but notice how much his younger brother's friend has changed too.





	Summer Crush

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't any sexual interaction between Brent and Milan until Milan has turned seventeen and Brent is nineteen and it's completely consensual.

It all sort of starts when Looch is 15, this whole thing with Keith’s older brother, Brent. Although he’s known Keith and Brent for practically forever, when you’re this in to hockey you cross paths all the time: same team, same friends, same rinks—the summer that Looch turns fifteen, and Brent is seventeen and home for three months, Looch really notices Brent for the first time. Like, _notices_.

“Hey, dumbass. You seen my Canucks shirt?” Brent shakes his shaggy hair right in Keith’s direction, spraying little droplets of water all over the two boys on the couch. Brent smirks—he did it on purpose.

“You jerk!” Keith kicks out at Brent’s shins and barely misses. “It’s in the laundry pile, where Mom left it.”

Milan’s grown up in locker rooms, always around guys and he’s always known locker room etiquette: don’t stare. It’s never really been a problem or a thing, even though he’s known for a while that he likes guys, but when Brent comes in after a post work out shower giving Keith shit, wrapped only in a towel, that whole locker room etiquette training flies out the window.

“You sure?” Brent scratches right above the waistband of the towel idly. “I just looked, wasn’t there.”

There’s little rivulets of water trailing down from the tips of Brent’s hair, sliding down the column of his neck, making small zig-zag paths down Brent’s still damp and pink from the hot water chest.

Milan forcefully trains his eyes on the TV, fixates on the small lettering in the corner of the screen flashing pause, pause, pause, over and over again. He counts the seconds between words. ‘Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look’ rattles around in head.

“Because you didn’t actually look, loser.” Keith retorts and tries looking around where Brent’s placed himself directly in Keith’s line of sight to the TV. “Move it, you dick.”

“I’ll move when you gimme my shirt back, dick.”

Looch doesn’t mean it to happen, but it does. His eyes drift back away from the TV screen and the flashing pause and he follows one of the drops as it slides down Brent’s chest, down over one pec, down the slightly tanned plane of his abdomen. He watches as the droplet changes its path to trace the very faint ridge of a developing v-cut. Looch bites his lip and blinks—this is _Brent_. Keith’s older brother. Keith’s older brother who’s suddenly really kind of starting to look grown up with just a spattering of hair across his chest and the beginnings of a thick, dark line of hair that disappears below the waistband of the tower.

“It’s in the freaking laundry room!” Keith growls, frustrated.

“Is not!” Brent reaches forward and slaps Keith’s controller out of his hands and stands back up straight, crossing his arms over his chest, laughing.

Looch tries to look away, tries to force himself to ignore the droplet that’s sliding down the trail of hair and he’s unsuccessful when he sees the bead of water soak in to the lip of the white towel that’s riding dangerously low on Brent’s hips. Looch follows the line of the towel down, down to where the towel mounds out over the outline of Brent’s dick and he bites his lower lip when he feels his own dick twitch. “Hey, Keith—” Looch’s voice is vaguely strangled, “we playing or what?”

Keith glares at Brent and picks his controller back up off the floor. “Well, I’d _like_ to, but…”

Brent laughs again, flips Keith off, and struts out of the room hollering for their mother and asking where his shirt is.

Looch goes home that night and jerks off, quietly biting his lips, motions rough and uneven as he thinks about Brent’s chest, Brent’s abs, that trail—Brent’s _dick_ —the image of the thick line riding down Brent’s thigh under the towel making Looch curl over on himself as he gasps and comes in to his fist.

~

The rest of the summer holds a good amount more of that—Brent being shirtless in the house, Brent coming up from the small basement gym after working out; sweaty with shorts slung low on his hips or walking around the house in just his towel while he bitches that Keith stole all his t-shirts while Keith gripes back, ‘put on some clothes, you asshole—no one wants to see your dick’. Well, Looch kind of does, but he’s not actually going to admit that to Keith, so instead, Looch jerks off a lot and tries not to think about Brent’s dick and he doesn’t succeed at all.

~*~

It’s not really a crush in Looch’s opinion, he doesn’t pine when Brent’s away with his billet family, he doesn’t have any expectations, he doesn’t count the days off till summer on his calendar. In fact, during the past year, he’s had his first kiss with some kid on his hockey team and he and some other kid even gave each other handys one time when they were hiding under the blankets during a tournament away in Edmonton. So really, during the year Looch didn’t think _that_ much about Brent—although, he still did from time to time, few and far between when he was in the shower or alone at night in his bed.

Sometimes he thought about kissing that boy from the tournament over and over, sometimes it was Brent’s face though, covered in adolescent stubble. And sometimes he thought about those hand jobs under the blanket and how that boys dick felt good in his hand and how he kind of wished it had been in the kids mouth instead. But sometimes he imagined what Brent’s dick was like: bigger, thicker, more hair and stuff—more grown up—and those were the times Looch came hard and fast. Pathetically fast when Looch fantasized about Brent’s mouth on his dick.

Unfortunately, the summer Looch is turning sixteen and Brent comes back a little bit later than normal for the hot summer months, Looch is fully unprepared for the changes Brent’s gone through in the last year.

Brent’s eighteen now, an actual adult. He’s grown a couple more inches, easily six feet now and he’s filling out even more—working out harder to get ready for training camp now that he’s been drafted. He’s more defined, thicker—stronger. Keith never mentioned any of this shit to Looch, although, why would he? That’s probably a weird thing for Keith to talk about.

Brent still walks around shirtless, still walks around in a towel, only Brent’s grown a few inches and the towels haven’t, so they ride up high across thick muscled thighs and hand low across wide, sturdy hips, and that trail of hair is thicker and darker and Brent’s looking kind of more like a man to Looch than a teenager. The icing on the cake is that Brent’s got the beginnings of a beard (well, he’s trying) and its all just kind of a lot for Looch to take in.

He jerks off a hell of a lot more this summer than he did the last and Looch starts thinking more and more about the weight of Brent on him or trying to use his sixteen-year-old frame to try to hold Brent down, and God, he comes so hard sometimes it’s a little off putting.

~

They play street hockey—him, Keith, and Brent—and it doesn’t help that Brent throws his weigh around, puts a shoulder in to Looch to throw him off the street hockey ball, the way Brent grunts when Looch returns the favor. It really doesn’t help when it’s been hours in the summer sun and they’re done and they’re all tired and sweaty and Brent peels his shirt off. It especially doesn’t help when Brent turns the hose on himself to cool off and the water pours down over broadening shoulders, down over his chest, and soaks in to his basketball shorts leaving them wet and clinging to his lower half.

Looch tries not to look at the way the thin fabric hugs the definite outline of Brent’s dick—and he definitely tries not to think about how he’s pretty sure Brent goes commando most of the time. And he most definitely tries not to think about the way the shorts leave zero to the imagination and the Looch knows for sure Brent’s not cut because of the way his shorts mold wetly against his dick.

Yeah, Looch jerks off a lot that summer.

~*~

Looch is back home for the summer when he’s turning seventeen, having been off with his new billet family for much of the year, and Keith’s home too—so’s Brent. Nineteen-year-old Brent who’s been playing major-junior in Lethbridge and is even taller now and even more filled out.

In the last year Looch has grown too, shot up a few inches, gotten thicker, broader—he’s been boxing so he’s pretty defined too for an almost seventeen-year-old, and while he’s not quite as tall as Brent, he’s getting close. During the year he’d also had a sort of boyfriend—a guy on the team who was seventeen and they fooled around, a lot. Looch is still a virgin but he’d gotten his dick sucked and he’d sucked a dick (he prefers the former though), and he’d totally fingered his boyfriend. They broke up though, right before the summer—mostly because the guy was turning eighteen and Looch was going to be moving on to juniors, so it wouldn’t have worked out anyhow—neither one was particularly broken up about it.

So, the summer starts pretty much like most of their summers—Brent shirtless, Keith and Looch hanging out playing Xbox or now, actually working out some. They still play street hockey, only now it’s getting even rougher because Brent and Looch are pretty similar in size and Brent’s trying to show off all the shit he’s been doing up in major-junior and Looch is trying to show off everything he’s going to improve on in juniors, and a few times, some hard checks turn in to scuffles and Brent and Looch end up grunting and half-swinging at each other rolling around in the front yard.

It gets kind of heated one afternoon—both of them tired and sore and cranky from the heat, and Keith ends up turning the hose on them to break them up and cool them down. Looch is pretty fucking thankful because the cold jolt of water pretty much kills the boner he’s sure is digging in to Brent’s hip and it seems to do the same thing to Brent’s dick—Brent’s hard and thick dick that’s been rubbing along Looch’s thigh while they were rolling around in the grass.

~

It’s after that, that Looch literally can’t stop thinking about Brent. And honestly, Brent’s kind of having a similar problem of his own, but it’s more that Brent’s just really horny and Keith’s friend is fucking thick and strong and has what felt like a pretty impressive dick when it was digging in to his hip.

Brent _knows_ he really shouldn’t do anything. He’s fucking nineteen and Looch is seventeen but Looch just looks at him now—like all the time. And maybe Brent’s sort of flattered by that. Maybe he preens a little bit and even goes shirtless a little bit more than before.

Brent also totally jerks off in his bedroom one afternoon when he knows damn well Keith and Looch are in Keith’s bedroom right on the other side of his wall. He’s not exactly loud about it, but then again, he’s exactly that quiet either and he laughs to himself, dick in hand when Keith pounds on the bedroom wall and yells, ‘Jesus, you fucker—no one wants to hear you jerking off! That’s sick!’.

Looch wants to hear it.

~

Looch shows up one afternoon and when Brent answers the door and tells Looch that Keith’s out with their mom for a few hours, Looch is kind of torn. On one hand, it kind of sucks—he and Keith were going to work on some sick moves Looch picked up watching old tapes of the Canucks then probably battle it out with some Call of Duty, but on the other hand—no one’s home, only Brent, and Looch kind of gets a half chub just thinking about the possibilities. But he puts that out of his mind quickly—he’s Keith’s friend really, not Brent’s, and why would Brent do anything other than say, ‘I’ll have dickhead message you when he gets home’.

Only, Brent doesn’t say that. What he says instead is, ‘they’ll be back in a few hours—but I was just about to go work out if you want to come with’.

Looch wants.

~

Brent pushes himself on the bike till his face is red and sweat’s dripping down his temples and Looch tries really hard not to drop the barbell on his own neck when Brent grunts and pulls his shirt up to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. Looch closes his eyes, takes deep breaths, and concentrates on lifting, holding, then lowering the weights, smooth motions. Steady motions.

By the end of the workout, Brent’s shirt is off—it’s soaked anyways, and Looch is pretty sweaty too and Brent suggests they go upstairs, get a drink to cool off, then maybe watch a movie or some shit till Keith comes home.

Brent leans against the counter in the kitchen, downs one big glass of water, then another, refilling Looch’s glass too before putting the in the sink, grabbing a couple Gatorades and showing Looch in to the living room where he puts on some action movie they’ve both seen.

Brent drops down on the couch, close to Looch, shoulders almost touching and Looch studiously does not think about the way the heat from Brent’s bare shoulder is soaking through his t-shirt and he resolutely does not think about how Brent sits with his legs splayed open with his shorts riding high up the insides of his thick thighs.

Brent, on the other hand, totally notices how Looch definitely has at least a half chub going on (because fuck—if that’s what he’s showing soft, Brent definitely wants some of that). He inches a little closer and can feel the slight hitch Looch makes when Brent resettles himself on the couch and drops his hand down to his crotch to readjust himself. It goes on like this for a while, Brent moving slightly closer and closer, eventually his hand not really moving from his dick, but he’s also not actually doing anything with it, but he’s half hard too and he _knows_ Looch knows.

The movie hits a lull and Brent turns a bit to angle himself so he’s facing Looch’s side. “Yeah, so—if this isn’t—just say no or whatever—” and Brent wraps his fingers around Looch’s angled jaw and pulls Looch’s head towards his and he kisses Looch, hard and wet and filthy, biting at Looch’s lips, sucking at them. Looch kisses back with just as much intensity.

Brent uses his slight height and weight advantage and he slowly pushes Looch down in to the couch and covers him, head to toe, slowly grinding, fingers threading in to Looch’s short hair. Brent keeps kissing for a while, but eventually starts licking and biting his way down Looch’s jaw and towards the column of Looch’s neck.

“I’ve seen you watching me—looking at me—” Brent comments as he’s sliding his mouth down to suck on Looch’s Adam’s apple. “A lot.”

Looch grunts and embarrassed noise that ends in a whine when Brent angles his hips and rubs slowly against Looch’s dick.

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed—it’s flattering—” Brent bites at a spot right below Looch’s ear. “I don’t mind.” He keeps rolling his hips and goes back to kissing Looch hard and deep.

They rut against each other for a bit and Brent can tell Looch is having a hard time keeping it together: Looch’s hips are stuttering and he’s breathing faster and faster, so Brent slows way down, props himself up on his elbows so he’s framing Looch’s head. “You good? You need a break?” Brent asks, kissing Looch in between words.

Looch’s cheeks turn pink and he tilts his head in to his shoulder a bit so he’s not really looking at Brent. “Uh…” He clears his throat a little. “Uh, yeah. It’s…yeah, it’s a lot.”

Brent chuckles quietly and playfully pulls on Looch’s hair for a moment. “It’s ok—I’ve been seventeen—dick doesn’t listen, huh?”

That draws an unexpected laugh out of Looch and Brent sits back, pulling Looch back up to sitting.

They watch a little bit more of the movie, Brent leaning in to Looch and he figures he’ll wait—he’ll let Looch initiate more, let Looch decide if he wants to do anything else right now. It doesn’t take too long though before Looch is pulling Brent towards him and sliding his tongue in to Brent’s mouth while his hands slide up and down Brent’s bare arms and along Brent’s bare shoulders.

Brent reaches out, lifts Looch’s shirt, subtly suggests Looch takes it off—Brent figures he shouldn’t be the only one shirtless around there. Looch pulls back, pulls his shirt off over his head and leans back in, chases Brent’s mouth but Brent puts a hand to Looch’s chest and holds him back, “just wait.”

Brent leans down, way down as he uses his hands to push Looch against the back of the couch, and he licks a long, wet trail from Looch’s abs right up in between his pecs, feeling when Looch shivers as he drags his tongue against Looch’s skin. Brent finds one nipple with his teeth, pulls a little then laves over the small nub with his tongue, soothing—then works his way over and repeats the motions on Looch’s other nipple.

Looch closes his eyes and gasps—whatever he had with his boyfriend during the summer was _never_ like this—it was all light touches and hesitant moves and questions and really basic stuff. Even when Looch had been fingering him it was more figuring out what whether he was doing it right than acting with heat and purpose.

“Fuck—Brent—” Looch mumbles when Brent’s nose brushes against the light trail of hair that sits running down below his belly button. “Fuck—”

Brent smiles against Looch’s tight abs, drags his teeth along Looch’s skin and sinks off the couch, shouldering his way in between Looch’s knees. Brent’s fingers linger on the waistband of Looch’s shorts, fingertips dipping down slightly, teasing at the hair he feels beneath.

Brent tilts his head up in question, looking at Looch, flicking his eyes between Looch’s face and Looch’s dick and it takes a second for Looch’s brain to process what’s happening, and then Looch is nodding his head vigorously and gasping when Brent’s lips come down over his shorts and he starts mouthing at the head of Looch’s dick through the thin fabric.

Brent loves sucking dick—the way it feels as it’s filling out in his mouth, the smell, the taste—each dick he’s sucked unique in its own way—and he mouths along the outline of Looch’s dick till the front of Looch’s shorts are damp with spit and Looch’s cock is straining and tenting and Brent can feel Looch’s hips almost vibrating where he’s got his fingers resting along Looch’s body.

Brent urges Looch up off the couch a little so he can slide Looch’s shorts and briefs down over his hips and Brent takes a second, face close to Looch’s dick, rubbing the head along his cheek, tracing the outline of his lips, pulling down slowly on Looch’s foreskin till his crown is fully revealed and Brent traces the ridge with his tongue.

Above him, Looch makes small, quiet noises—grunts, groans, moans—and Brent throws himself in to it, licking wetly around the head, slowly pumping his fist up and own Looch’s shaft. “Good?” Brent pauses and smirks.

“Great—” Looch mumbles, unable to tear his eyes off the pink tip of Brent’s tongue where it’s dipping in to his slit.

“Good—” Brent answers. “Do me a favor, huh?”

Looch answers with cracking ‘sure’ as Brent’s hand tightens just a little and he twists his wrist.

“Hands in my hair—tight—” Brent waits till Looch’s fingers are curled in to his thick hair. “Pull if it gets to be too much—but don’t hold me down, ok?”

Looch nods, then whispers a ‘yes’.

This is what Brent loves the best—the bordering on almost painful feeling of fingers in his hair and he opens hi mouth and relaxes his throat and sinks down, letting the head of Looch’s dick slide down and down till it’s filling his throat and he can feel the muscles in his neck rippling as he swallows around Looch’s dick.

Looch lets out a strangled wet gasp and his fingers twist in Brent’s hair.

Over and over, Brent swallows down around Looch’s cock, holding himself until he has to pull off gasping for air and then he does it again. Brent’s arm comes down, heavy and strong across Looch’s hips, mumbles at him to keep still when he pulls off for a moment when Looch’s hips stutter.

Looch mutters a ‘sorry’ and does his best to keep from moving, but soon he can barely keep still, and Brent’s other hand is on his balls and Brent’s fingers are curling around them and pulling lightly, his thumb dragging over the skin, pushing downwards as his mouth sinks, and Looch pulls up on Brent’s hair, hard.

“Fuck—I’m gonna—” Is all Looch gets out before Brent pushes back down, not caring how hard Looch is pulling at his hair and Brent’s eyes are tearing up because fuck, that _hurts_ but it’s so _good_ and he feels Looch’s body tense and feels Looch’s come pulsing and sliding down his throat. Brent sucks him off throughout, wrapping his tongue around Looch’s dick, pulling back a little to milk the remainder of Looch’s orgasm from his slit.

Brent pulls off afterwards, licking his lips, mouth red and puffy and feeling wrecked and when he talks, his voice is rough and used and fuck—it’s really hot.

“I’m gonna—” Brent doesn’t finish his thought, instead he crawls off the floor and straddles Looch’s thighs. He pulls the front of his shorts down, pulls his cock out—thick and hard and heavy and dripping—and he puts one hand on Looch’s shoulder to stay himself while he uses the other to jerk and pull hard and fast on his own cock. It doesn’t take long and Brent’s coming with a long, loud, wet-hot moan, splashing come across Looch’s bare chest, his face caught between a totally blissed out look and kind of a cocky smirk.

Brent rolls off Looch’s lap when he’s done, sinks in to the couch and throws an arm over his eyes and groans. “Fuck—fucking good…” and his voice is hoarse and if Looch hadn’t just come, he’d be so fucking turned on by the roughness coming out of Brent’s mouth.

Brent eventually tosses Looch’s t-shirt at him— “clean up, they’ll be home soon—I’ll get you one of Keith’s shirts to wear”—before pulling himself off the couch and disappearing in to the laundry room for a minute.

When Brent returns a moment later, he tosses a t-shirt at Looch before heading over to the stairs. “I’m gonna shower—but, you know, if you want to…again or something—you know—” Brent shrugs and Looch is left sitting on the couch totally come dumb, and yeah, he _wants_.

 

 


End file.
